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In retrospect, Gricko supposed he had the weather to thank for everything.
It was hot, even in the evening of the Witchlight Carnival. A humid, sticky night in the middle of summer. It didn't stop the crowd from showing up, eager to distract themselves from the heat with fun and games. For the past few nights, he'd been working the game booths, urging fairgoers to count Almaraj or Cocatrice feathers. Even occasionally partaking in a round of wrestling. But he must've done something to irk one of the owners, because he'd been on clean-up duty the whole night, no respite of a comfortable booth to sit at. He was hot, cranky, and in desperate need of a break.
So when he came across the tent near the back of the carnival, away from the Big Top and the crowd, he gave in to the temptation and slipped inside, ducking under the flap of canvas in the back. The air was still warm, but less muggy in the cool shade of the darkened tent. It was also quiet, which was something he didn't know he needed until he had it. He'd always presented himself as an extrovert, a Goblin rambunctiousness that worked well with his nomadic life. Easy to get along with, to find someone to travel with for a few days. But even he could appreciate the quiet sometimes, letting it settle around him, the air as thick with it as it was with the heat of the swamp.
Gricko settled on the packed dirt, leaning against a wooden storage crate to relax for a bit. He'd brought his lunch, a hastily wrapped Goblin Surf n Turf that was dangerously leaking through its paper. He licked a bit of sauce that had dripped down his arm, unwrapping the sandwich and tearing into it.
The tent was silent. Until it wasn't.
He didn't hear anything at first, distracted by the sandwich and his own chewing. But the sound made him pause, freezing in the dim light to listen more intently. He was used to hearing sounds in nature as he traveled, making quick judgements on which sounds meant a new friend and which meant a quick escape from the area.
This was a small noise, a rustling further in the tent. Something with...feathers? A bird maybe, something that flew into the tent by mistake during the day's set up, camping out in the darkness. It didn't seem like something he should worry about, so he shrugged it off, taking another large bite of lunch.
There was more rustling, a little louder this time, like something was struggling. And, after a moment, a sad little chirp. He got to his feet, lunch forgotten. Whatever was in here with him obviously needed help. Something making that noise, it was like a stab to his heart, he couldn't just ignore a poor little creature in need.
There was no light in the tent, but easy enough to see with Goblin eyes. It was a storage tent, full of boxes and crates not used during the Carnival after set up. Gricko weaved his way through stacks of them, trying to find the source of the noise. Now that whatever creature realized it was sharing space with someone, it made more effort to be noticed, feathers rustling and a cooing, small but insistent.
He reached the far side of the tent, but he couldn't find the source of the noise. He looked around with a frown, scratching his head before he realized his hands were still a mess of sandwich sauce. But he ignored it, he had more important things to worry about, listening closely to hear the noise again.
There, in the corner. Another ruffled noise, this time with a thump, coming from one of the wooden crates. Gricko scurried over to it. It was slightly different from the others, once he took the time to inspect it. It was about his height, maybe slightly smaller. Not very wide either, whatever was in there was small. There was nothing on the outside to indicate anything living, no labels or warnings, so he wouldn't have thought anything of it before hearing the sounds. There were a few small holes along the sides of the container, air holes probably, not even big enough for a Goblin-sized hand to fit inside. He leaned his ear against the side, listening. Sure enough, something shifted inside, little noises of feathers or fur against dry hay.
The thing inside let out another sad little coo, and he wasted no more time. He dropped his sandwich to the ground, digging through his pack for his little dagger. It wasn't much, but it was enough to jam into the sides of the crate, leveraging the side open with a little wiggling. Tossing it aside, he kneeled, poking his head into the crate.
A pair of gold eyes stared at him from the darkness of the box, wide and circular, low to the ground. After a moment, they tilted.
He reached a hand out, holding it out and waiting. "Hey there, lil beastie... you okay?"
A bit more shuffling as the creature backed up against the wall of the crate, seeming to assess the situation. Gricko didn't move, keeping his hand still. After a few moments, his patience was rewarded, as the eyes got bigger, the little thing shuffling closer to inspect his hand. It sniffed at him, he felt the exhaled breaths against his open palm. And then a tiny lick against his finger.
And then a sharp pain, something hard stabbing him. It bit him! Or...pecked? He recoiled his hand in shock, a yelp more of surprise than from the actual pain slipping out before he could help himself. It scared the little beast, who shuffled back into the darkness of the crate, wide eyes watching him with a soft hoot, almost apologetic.
"Sorry!" Gricko held out both hands, fingers spread cautiously. "Didn't mean anyfin' by it, y'jus' spooked me is all! 'S'okay, really!"
He waited again, hoping the small creature could actually understand him. He felt something wet on his fingers, thinking maybe the beastie had drawn blood. But it was only more residue from his forgotten lunch, whatever he'd missed licking up. Apparently his new friend would finish the job for him.
"Oh! Yer prob'ly hungry, aintcha?" He kept one hand outstretched, while the other grabbed for his discarded sandwich. Luckily it was mostly still intact, and he held it out, offering it.
The bribe worked, and the creature let out an excited little trill as it finally stepped out of the shadows. An owlbear, a tiny little thing, barely up to his waist, shuffled forward, all its earlier caution thrown to the wind when presented with food. Little thing must really have been hungry.
He watched as the owlbear gobbled up the sandwich. She had to be young, she was so small, even he could pick her up and carry her. He wondered why she was here. The Carnival had a lot of animals, plenty of magical beasts to show off in the Big Top, but this little one was locked up here, forgotten in a storage tent. The Carnival was halfway through its set, a good few days. If this little one had been here the whole time, no wonder she was going at that sandwich like she was starved. She probably was.
"Wish I had more t'give ya," he murmured, letting her lick the sauce off his palm when she was done. She chirped, brighter this time after a little food. She nuzzled his hand, and he scratched at the fluff at her cheek.
"Did they forget about you?" he sat back, cross-legged. The tiny owlbear immediately bounced over, her tiny paws reaching up to clamber into his lap. He felt like the breath had been punched from his lungs.
There was no way he could leave her here. She'd been left alone in a storage box for days, forgotten. They obviously wouldn't miss her, and there was no way he could walk away from her now. If baby ducks could imprint on their mother, then the opposite had already happened. Gricko had imprinted on this little cutesie, and he had to keep her safe. He didn't know the first thing about caring for a cub, but no one here seemed to be doing it, so he'd try his best.
He looked around, hoping for some kind of way to transport her. "Howsabout we blow this popsicle stand, hmm?"
The owlbear chirped, nuzzling into his chest.
After a bit of shifting, he was able to keep one arm wrapped around her, and used the other to get to his feet. Shrugging out of his vest, he wrapped it around the cub, pulling the collar over her head to disguise her as much as he could. Then he picked her up, piggybacking her.
"Okay, if anyone asks, yer jus' me normal, Goblin daughter, okay?"
She nodded once, with a definitive hoot.
Gricko couldn't help the adored noise that slipped out at that. "Yer a real cutise, huh? A real hootsie cutsie."
She chirped, pecking slightly at the remaining Surf n Turf sauce he'd run through his hair.
He snickered, making his way to the edge of the tent. "Hootsie the Cutesie. 'As a nice ring to it, don't it?"
Her little paw tapped against his cheek and his heart immediately melted again.
"Hootsie T. Cutesie Grimgrin. I'm finkin' this'll be our two-week notice."
Hootsie bapped him with a paw again. Together they slid out of the tent and away from the Witchlight Carnival. Neither looked back.
Gricko guessed the heat wasn't so bad after all.